


it's their birthday

by hey_mickey



Series: Mickey's Umbrellas [10]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Birthdays, But Not really', Fighting, Gen, I Heard A Rumor There's No Incest, Pre-Canon, each hargreeves gets a section, im just sad, it's sad, no beta we die like ben, no comfort, uh five kills people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 15:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_mickey/pseuds/hey_mickey
Summary: On their birthday, the Hargreeves contemplate their family's roles in their lives.





	it's their birthday

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something for the Hargreeves' birthdays' but I got sad and angsty and now what...
> 
> I'm sad.

It’s his birthday.

Luther, Number One, Hargreeves mourns.

It’s his birthday and he’s trapped on the moon mourning the loss of his self. His body is gone, replaced by some hairy monstrosity that’s not even his. 

He makes it his. Water runs between his fingers, scalding, he knows it’s scalding from the way his skin peels away from the water and screams bright red. He can’t feel it. His body can’t feel it, but his mind can and he contemplates the new distance between these two things with a solemn detachment that only comes from the isolation of a million miles and three years. 

He’s in mourning.

He can feel the presence of Number Two, who’d make shrewd comments and angry conversation, but always stand up in front of the others, arms spread and eyes defiant

His chest aches.

Number Three smiles at him from her perch high above him, blinding him with her light and radiance. Her eyes sparkle in the way he knows so well, like she’s hiding something from him and knows that he wants it.

His lips are dry.

There’s a rattle from the drawers and Number Four is there, stealing his plants. With them, Luther doesn’t know what he’ll do, but he’s taking them away with a seedy grin and a small glint in his eyes. Luther wants to help him, you don’t need to steal my plants to survive, Klaus.

Klaus laughs and his ears burn.

Number Five stares at him with the disappointment of a twin. His mouth moves probably scolding Luther for something dumb he’s done or an equation he’s gotten wrong, but for the life of him, he can’t remember what his twin’s voice sounds like.

Luther can feel heat in his eyes.

Six shows him a book, hands wrapped around the cover as though it’s the only thing keeping him intact. He’s asking, no pleading for Luther to end it, put him out of his misery. He’s laying in the pool of blood that Luther had found him in. The book is closed on his lap and his eyes flutter shut.

Luther screams.

Seven hides from him, behind the body of Ben, her eyes filled with tears and a curse on her lips. For some reason that his addled mind had no way of giving him, her eyes are white and open, staring at him with the same brilliance as Three, only colder.

Luther mourns.

Here in the cold world of the moon, where there is only him, there is no need for them.

They’ve died a long time ago.

And He killed them.

He’s not sure who he is.

* * *

It’s his birthday 

Diego, Number Two, Hargreeves fights.

It’s his birthday and he’s in a swirl of bodies, all screaming and dripping with sweat. The pounding of fists echoes all around him and it’s sweet, sweet distraction from the other voices in the room and the snarl he can feel in his throat.

The ring is small, too small if you ask him, he needs more room to expand to his true talents. But the barking voice in the back of his head won’t let him.

Diego readies himself.

The first fighter comes towards him, eyes blue and hair blonde. Perfection. Diego swings his fist and it’s caught in the grip of the man, his super strength sending Diego to the floor in seconds. The sharp bark of a voice demands he gets up.

Diego groans on the floor.

He takes the first hand offered to him, belonging to a woman who he swears he’s seen before, maybe on TV. Her smile is perfection and there’s not a smear of makeup on her sweat covered face. They meet eyes and he finds himself grinning at her and she slowly smiles back, only to thrust her foot out, sending him into the side of the arena.

The tinge of blood is in mouth.

He whirls around ready to fight the woman again only to meet the scared eyes of another man. Out of all the fighters in the ring, he looks the least ready to be there, his eyes twitching and hands wringing. There’s a strange urge to help him, get him out of the ring before he gets hurt but the sharp bark of a voice is back, demanding as always so Diego charges at the frightened man, fist ready.

He punches nothingness.

A young boy is standing in front of him as he gets up, eyes playful and smile teasing, like he knows something that Diego does not. Diego snarls at him, unsure what about the boy provokes such anger, but the boy is gone before he can connect with him, like he was never there at all.

Diego spits more blood onto the floor.

A man lays on the floor, blood flowing from every inch of his body and Diego freezes. How could the voice have done this? Forced him to hurt this man in such a way, Diego rushes towards the man, desperate to help when the man reaches up and grabs his face. 

Diego wrenches him off.

The last fighter is in the ring now and Diego’s unsure how she’s even still there, her eyes soft and calf-like. Her face twitches like she’s smiling but it’s so awkward and forced that it only fuels Diego’s hate of this entire situation. He plunges towards her and she rises to meet him, head on.

And she’s gone.

Diego runs straight into the barriers at the ends of the ring, collapsing in a pile of his own sweat and blood.

Diego fights.

He fights because it is all he has left anymore, the only thing he needs.

The others no longer need to.

They’ve already lost.

And they’re all he has left.

* * *

It’s her birthday.

Allison, Number Three, Hargreeves pretends.

It’s her birthday and she’s on the set of a TV show that she’s already forgotten the name of, pretending that when she gets home Patrick will kiss her and make everything ok and Claire will show her the dance routine she’s come up with in the day for Allison’s birthday.

She’s called up to set with out knowing her lines and she doesn’t even care, she’s a mess anyways and her manager knows it. The cameras flash and the shouts of the director flood her mind and the scene starts.

She becomes someone else.

She’s a politician, forced to make the tough calls, hounded by a man who enforces all his ideals upon her. She doesn’t know where he ends and she begins, all she knows is whatever he says is correct and she is wrong.

Cut! She removes her blonde hair and blue eyes and her super strength and shifts.

She’s a policeman, unhappy with the authority and adamant that whatever they do, they’re doing it wrong. She rebels against the system, the group of people that are supposed to know everything and yet know nothing, because they haven’t seen what she’s seen.

Cut! She pulls off the holsters of knives and leather body suit and changes.

She’s a broken man, hurt by too many things and too many people. She can only see the bad in everything and the ghosts of the people she couldn’t save or the people who beg her to fix them when she can barely fix herself.

Cut! She takes off the itchy feather boa and empties her pockets of drugs and her mind of ghosts.

She’s a young orphan, with no where to go and no one to hold onto. She’s smart, she knows that, smarter than everyone in the house she’s left behind combined, but there’s no way she can run forever. Her feet pick up the pace, faster and faster, calculations running through her head as she tries to decide how to survive.

Cut! She yanks off the schoolboy uniform and high cut socks and gelled hair and steps into whoever’s next.

She’s a teenage boy, who’s been hit by a car, blood clotting her hair and she gasps her final breaths, her hands reach above her as she tries to grip the sun in her grasp, her eyes fading as the sun remains forever untouchable.

Cut! She drops her books on the floor and quickly unzips her jacket and pants, leaving them on the floor for someone else to find.

She’s the unknown, the girl trapped in the walls of a house as people party and have fun around her, all she can see is the darkness she’s forced to live in. She tries to make noises, smacking against the walls and screeching noises but no one will ever hear her.

Cut! The violin drops to the floor and the baggy clothes go with it.

Allison pretends.

She pretends that she is someone she’s not, she pretends she’s the people closest to her, yet so far away.

They don’t need to pretend.

They already know who they are.

She’s only just starting to figure that out.

* * *

It’s his birthday.

Klaus Number Four Hargreeves dances.

It’s his birthday and he’s probably the only one of his siblings celebrating in any way. He’s dancing wildly, without cause or effect, only in the moment because the moment is here.

The people around him don’t matter, only he does, because today is his day and his day alone. His mind vaguely stirs in his haze of booze and pills and he almost trips over the nearby person passed out on the floor.

Klaus keeps dancing.

The music shifts to a cheesy 80s bop that Klaus shakes his hips too. It reminds him of home, and he finds himself spinning around, watching the ceiling above him swirl like a drink in a cup. The smells of home wash over him and he can vaguely recall a dance session in the room of airplanes and space where he bounced with his brother.

Klaus shimmies to the side and the music flows into the next song.

Overly aggressive rap and edge flood Klaus’ ears and he’s thinking of vigilante nights and stakeouts, the sharp slice of knives and the growls of anger. He feels like he’s floating and then jolting back down to earth as he stomps his feet against the floor in time with the beat, screaming along with the crowd.

The song changes too quickly for his liking.

His drink sloshes to the side as a group of girls rush onto the floor, screaming the lyrics to a female power ballad that Klaus already knows all the words too. He drops to the floor, laughing as the song spirals on, missing the group of people that are starting to move towards him.

He’s met with a fist in the face as the power ballad ends, an irony that’s not lost on him.

As fists flood his vision, the song shifts again. More mechanical but still aggressive. The people around him know the words and as he listens, focusing on the lyrics instead of the numbing pain on his body, he can’t help but think that the song is too happy for the darkness of the lyrics.

He’s dragged outside as the song fades into the next.

An old song that he used to listen to constantly plays in the background as the men above him decide what to do with him, arguing over his body as the mournful tune plays in the background, singing of desperate loss and the regaining of life. He can see a face looking down at him and grins.

They decide to leave him for dead.

The party in the club is winding down as the last song slows it down. A violin moves the beat up and down as Klaus fades in and out of consciousness, reminding him of home once again, a violin’s whisper in the halls.

Klaus gets to his feet and pushes down the nausea of the night.

As he walks, music thumps through his ears and he laughs, wildly and unprompted. His nose drips blood.

Klaus dances.

He dances to the music that only he can hear, because everyone else would look at a bloodied man on the street and insist he’s crazy.

They don’t need to dance.

They can’t hear the music.

He wishes they were able to.

* * *

It’s his birthday.

Number Five Hargreeves kills.

It’s his birthday and he’s covered in blood and his bones ache and he just wants to go home and run into his siblings’ arms. A home that doesn’t exist here and siblings that are long dead, at least to him.

The Handler had given him a list of people to pick off tonight and he can’t help but think she’s keeping him busy because it’s his birthday and she’s simply cruel like that.

He lifts his gun up and fires.

The first, a budding astronaut. His death would allow Neil Armstrong to be accepted into the space program in his place. Five watches him die in the alleyway next to his fiancee’s house.

He resists the urge to go and apologize.

Second, a man, a good man. He’s stealing from a group of men that are in turn stealing from an innocent group of settlers. His death would make sure the mysterious colony starves and goes missing.

Five doesn’t give a small child his last piece of bread with a heavy heart.

A young starlet, on the edge of finding fame is gunned down by him. Her blonde locks are stained on the floor and he wants to cry from how beautiful she is. Behind him, a group of young men are recruited by a producer to become a band. 

He wishes he could tell his twin he indirectly formed a band.

An old man struggling with the death of his partner has turned to drugs to drown the feelings out. Five is oddly gentle with this kill, letting the old man find peace in death. His death will save the life of a young woman destined to be part of a political race to last the tests of time.

He goes to the old man’s gravesite and murmurs apologies.

A child is eating chicken nuggets in their home all by themselves, and Five watches them, eyes soft. They’re reading a book, a book he recognizes from his childhood. Five breaks into the house.

He throws up for three hours after that.

A pretty musician who could usurp Beethoven is the last one and he can’t help but listen to her for a while, mesmerized by her tunes and whispery notes. He shoots.

He attends her funeral and writes in his sister’s book.

He heads back to the small base he’s never been able to call home.

Number Five kills.

He kills to get back to family he can barely remember, preserved in his sister’s novel and imprinted in the bodies on his heart.

They don’t have this amount in their wakes.

They’d probably hate him.

He feels he probably deserves it.

* * *

It’s his birthday.

Ben, Number Six, Hargreeves reads.

It’s his birthday and reading is the only activity besides talking to Klaus that he can do as a ghost So he reads and re-reads books that he’s read so often that his fingers trail familiar words and his brain barely reads them at all.

He’s picked out a book, but the stories are all mashed together in his mind and he can’t help but forget which ones are real and which are fiction. He reads and he remembers.

The first story is serene and child-like, about a bear who lives on the moon. The story trails through the things that the bear does on the moon, all hilarious oxymorons and weird twists on things one would do on Earth. The words are simple and almost stupid, until the final sentence reveals that the entire story was about the bear slowly going insane from a circle of repetition.

He can’t help but see the bear as the perfect metaphor for his life.

Second is a crime story, about a series of murders all based around the actions of a mysterious millionaire. The story follows the millionaires’ son aka the lead detective on the case as he tries to figure out who would want his father dead, while contemplating his own strained relationship with his father.

It cuts a bit too deep for Ben to continue after that.

A teen drama catches his eyes and he pulls it off the shelf. The teen protagonist has been offered the role of a lifetime in new TV show, something that had been her dream for ages. As she begins to navigate the star-studded world of Hollywood, she had to figure out who she should trust and which one of her friends were simply using her for fame.

It’s too cheesy for him to handle, so he sets it back down.

The next is a coming of age story based upon the experiences of an old drug addict. He details his own struggles with his addiction and his road to recovery. The story is a tear-jerker and even involves a brief war-segment as the author is sent to Vietnam.

Ben’s eyes glance towards his brother passes out on the couch before putting the book away.

A sci-fi series detailing the fight of a young man against a tyrannical time-traveling organization, fighting for his life and family and everything that they’d taken from him. He’s smart and ruthless and a loner, unable to connect to anything and everyone on a personal level, but he still cares for everyone he meets in his own way.

Ben files it away for later.

A historical diary of a young woman describing her experience in a massive household where no one knows her secret double-life as an opera musician. She dances around her abusive household and her secrets begin to pile up, until they all overpower her one finale night.

Ben grins as he reads the description, opening the book.

He skims the pages, barely even reading the words imprinted on the pages.

Ben reads.

He reads the books he’s always read, because he’s desperate for some source of familiarity.

They don’t need this sense of grounding to help them.

They’re alive.

He wants to be that too.

* * *

It’s her birthday.

Vanya Number Seven Hargreeves watches.

It’s her birthday and she’s sitting in a restaurant, people watching and drowning herself in wine. She has no one to celebrate with her and she can’t help but hate every single person that walks by the window she’s sitting at.

She takes a sip of her drink and stares at the blur of colors passing by her window and tries to not let the tears flood down her cheeks.

A bulky man passes by her spot, his hand on his briefcase and resolution in his steps. She envies everything about him, the way he speaks with authority in his voice and the way he commands the crowd to move past him as though his mere presence is enough to make everything go right.

She crunches her napkin in her lap.

A biker now, calm and sharp, but she can see the lines of tight muscle in his body and knows he’s waiting for a moment to snap. A scent of something wrong is all it would take and he would be ready for it. She’s always admired that about certain people, that they’re able to respond quickly to danger. She wants to be like that.

Her pills feel heavy in her pocket.

The click of heels echo down the sidewalk and a woman with a small parade of admirers struts down the hall as though she owns it, but by the look of her clothes she might. Vanya swallows another bitter sip of wine and feels her tired eyes sag a bit. The woman doesn’t even acknowledge her admirers behind her and Vanya almost throws her wine glass out the window.

She doesn’t only turning her head away from the window to look in the restaurant.

In the back corner is a man, tapping the table and looking back and forth as though he’s about to burst. She can recognize the look in his eyes, the look of a junkie waiting for someone to give him his fix. It hurts to see a random man like that, it reminds her too much of her brother.

She looks away unable to take it.

Someone in a school uniform runs by the window in a flash of color and Vanya finds herself straining to see where the person had gone, wondering if they were the brother she missed so badly, but she can’t see anything in the dark of the night so she sits back down, too drunk to care and too tired to get up.

She writes down the instance on her arms, just in case.

A man sits on the bench, clothed in darkness and a book in his hand. She can’t help but swallow back a few tears at the sight of him, remembering the brother who was now gone. She’s so busy staring at him that when the waiter comes back from the kitchen to bring her the check, she almost decks him in the jaw. When she looks back, the man is gone, just like her brother.

She pays her check and doesn’t leave a large tip, just enough for the poor waiter who had to deal with her.

She stumbles home and collapses into her bed, practically in tears.

Vanya watches.

She’s always watched, desperate for a sense of belonging.

They don’t need to feel this sense of isolation.

They belong somewhere.

She wants that too.


End file.
